The Eternity You Desire
by Magicallioness
Summary: Lara’s pulled out of one of her relaxing exercises by Zip calling out from his lab. As she races towards it, she can just catch the last seconds of an emergency broadcast. It’s nothing more than broken sentences and jumbled images, but Lara recognises the
1. Prologue

I peered around the stone column cautiously, alert for any kind of movement, the weight of my twin pistols comfortable in my h

_Disclaimer: _

_I do not own Tomb Raider or any of it's characters, they belong to Eidos, Crystal Dynamics and others who have bought the rights to make money by playing around with them. I'm not making money through this, if I would, I wouldn't have to work a daytime job. No copyright figment intended, so please don't sue. _

_Author's note's:_

_This is my first Tomb Raider and first Lara/Kurtis story, so I'm really curious to hear what you think. About the story, but also about the characters and the environments. Are they lifelike, do they fit the Tomb Raider universe etc.? I focused on the description of the environments especially._

_The story set after Legend and is based on a mixture between game- and movieverse._

_This story isn't finished and hasn't been beta'd, but it has been completely planned out, so will likely be finished. Please let me know what you think._

**Summary:**

Lara's pulled out of one of her relaxing exercises by Zip calling out from his lab. As she races towards it, she can just catch the last seconds of an emergency broadcast. It's nothing more than broken sentences and jumbled images, but Lara recognises the sender anyway: it's Kurtis and he's in trouble. Lara goes to find him, leaving a baffled Zip and Allistar behind.

**Chapter Summary:**

**She thought him dead, but an emergency call proves otherwise. Lara rushes to Prague, back to the Strahov, to rescue her one time partner.**

** The Eternity You Desire **

PROLOGUE

I peer around the stone column cautiously, alert for any kind of movement, the weight of my twin pistols comfortable in my hands, the low light sparking off the polished metal, refracting into a million tiny beams. No one in sight. Slowly I round the pillar, the rest of the room coming into view.

More stone columns of differentiating height stand spread across the room. One of them has toppled under its own weight, an obstacle in my path or a hiding place for my enemy. I creep closer to the fallen giant, pistols trained on the area behind it, in case something shows up. A trickle of sweat runs down the side of my face and is absorbed by a few loose strands of hair. When I' m near enough to the column I jump, flipping over in the air and landing on it with a slight grunt, caused by the air suddenly pressured out of my lungs, my pistols trained on the ground beneath the column. Empty.

I return my eyes to the rest of the room, ears alert for any sound and spot a glimmer coming from somewhere on a high ledge. So there's my prize, but where's my enemy? I hop off the pillar and crouch down behind it, momentarily disappearing from view to let the adrenaline rush from finding my prize dissipate into a useful and comfortable alertness.

The room remains deadly quiet as I rise from behind the fallen column and start to make my way over to the side of the room where the high ledge is. The sound of stones crumbling and falling makes me spin around, both pistols trained on the place the noise came from.

Zip chooses that exact moment to run into the training area and nearly gets his head blown off for his trouble. He flinches, but doesn't comment.

"Lara, you have to see this! Emergency broadcast and he's mentioning you!"

I frown, holstering my pistols and sprinting towards the room Zip lovingly refers to as 'HQ'. A loud clanking of metal and whirring of wires sounds behind me as SIMON rises to his feet, ready to tear after me.

"Bryce!" I bark: "End the exercise!" I don't turn to see if SIMON is actually standing down, skidding around the corner and setting off towards Zip's computer room instead.

He returned to me right after the entire mess with Werner, having heard I didn't die in Egypt after all. I welcomed my old techie back into my home, unable to leave the man that had helped me find my way through so many high security buildings standing on my doorstep. It turned out to be a very good decision indeed; the PDA of his design and his talents for handling the Internet came in very handy during my chase for Excalibur. Once he revealed to have an unearthly talent for cooking, I hired him on the spot.

Bryce visited shortly after my return from Bolivia, looking dishevelled and tattered. I couldn't let him hang around on the lawn either. He repaired SIMON right after having a good night's sleep in his trailer and asked if he could stay for a while. He hasn't left yet and somehow I don't think he's going to. I don't mind though, him and Zip are getting along quite well and they complement each other: Bryce being more the computer nerd, while Zip tends to lean towards high tech weaponry. Together, they come up with the most amazing things and have turned SIMON into quite the formidable opponent.

I skid into 'HQ' just as Zip is plopping back down into his office chair. He starts fiddling with buttons and slides even before his ass touches the chair. The room is filled with computers, screens, keyboards and panels full of sliders and buttons. I don't know the function of half of them, but I did get Zip to explain why he needs all this equipment, since I'm the one paying for it. Apparently, he uses it to break into all kinds of high security mainframes, keep my headpiece online at all times, develop new toys like the PDA and scan any and all satellite broadcasts across the globe. Guess that's how he picked up on this one.

I turn my attention to the screen above his head. It's all jumbled images, crossed over by bending lines and snow every few seconds. The audio isn't any better, crackling static alternating with complete silence, but a few words make it through the speakers hanging around the room and the jumbled images are more than enough for me to recognize the man on screen. Piercing blue eyes, veiled by dark strands of hair.

"Kurtis," his name escapes my lips unbidden in a whisper that is a mixture of surprise, relief and disbelief. The stalker who stole my painting and later so chivalricly stayed behind to fight a monster while sending me on my quest, was alive. And in trouble. I can't make out more than a few words, but I'm quite sure 'Lara' and 'help me' are among them and that suffices to propel me into action.

"Record it, make a copy and then trace it", I tell Zip. He looks at me out of the corners of his eyes, trying to figure out why I display any interest in the message at all, but does what he is told nonetheless. Which is, after all, what he's paid for.

"I'm already recording it and I will make a copy as soon as it's finished. I presume you want me to get as much out of it as possible?" Zip asks. He continues before I can answer. "I've already traced it", he reveals to both me and Bryce, who comes bursting into the room and looks at the screen bewildered. I nod my affirmation to Zip's earlier question.

"You've traced it? Where's it coming from?" I want to know and I can immediately tell Zip's reluctant to answer. Not good.

"Well?" I press on.

"Prague," Zip answers, while pointing out the origin of the broadcast on a digital map he's pulled up on one of the many computer screens in the room.

"The Strahov. Bugger, I really didn't want to go there again", I mutter, glancing up at Kurtis, still talking on screen. He looks as if he's in a hurry and glances around frequently, like he's afraid someone will discover him any minute. I can only see his face and part of his chest. He wears the same T-shirts he did when I met him and I smile at that unconsciously. It fades when I notice something else: the leather straps that usually hug his shoulders are missing. No gun?

"So you really are in trouble, aren't you?" I ask him softly, but of course he doesn't answer. Instead, he wheels around to face whatever he's heard at his back and after another violent flicker, the screen goes black.

"You're going?" Bryce asks surprised as he turns his office chair around to face me.

"Of course. He's asking me to come and help him, isn't he?" I answer matter-of-factly, before turning around and exiting the room, leaving my techies quite baffled. I stop by the library on my way to my bedroom and pop my head around the door.

"Allistar, see what you can find out about the Strahov Complex in Prague." I've left the room before he can answer, trusting that he will do as asked, and march up the stairs towards my bedroom. I meet Winston on the first floor landing, where he hands me a towel and a questioning look. I direct him towards Zip and Bryce for details on why my training session was cut short and step into the shower, my mind filled with unwanted memories of a cocky American with a custom made gun and piercing blue eyes.


	2. Rescuing Kurtis

Disclaimer:

_Disclaimer: _

_I do not own Tomb Raider or any of it's characters, they belong to Eidos, Crystal Dynamics and others who have bought the rights to make money by playing around with them. I'm not making money through this, if I would, I wouldn't have to work a daytime job. No copyright figment intended, so please don't sue. _

_Author's note's:_

_This is my first Tomb Raider and first Lara/Kurtis story, so I'm really curious to hear what you think. About the story, but also about the characters and the environments. Are they lifelike, do they fit the Tomb Raider universe etc.? I focused on the description of the environments especially._

_The story set after Legend and is based on a mixture between game- and movieverse._

_This story isn't finished and hasn't been beta'd, but it has been completely planned out, so will likely be finished. Please let me know what you think._

**Summary:**

Lara's pulled out of one of her relaxing exercises by Zip calling out from his lab. As she races towards it, she can just catch the last seconds of an emergency broadcast. It's nothing more than broken sentences and jumbled images, but Lara recognises the sender anyway: it's Kurtis and he's in trouble. Lara goes to find him, leaving a baffled Zip and Allistar behind.

**Chapter Summary:**

**Lara goes back into the Strahov to rescue Kurtis, but things don't go exactly according to plan. **

CHAPTER ONE

Prague **Rescuing Kurtis**

It's early November but in Prague, everything is already covered in snow. It does mean fewer tourists however, so it was easy getting a hotel. The fact that I'm no longer a wanted woman helps too of course. Still, I chose a hotel in the tourist centre, harder to trace and easier to escape from when need be.

The snow crunches under my boots as I step onto Prague's main square. I didn't get much time to appreciate it last time I was here and now I can see what I've missed out on. It's breathtaking. The multi-coloured houses around the square are partly concealed by blotches of snow lying on the window ledges and elaborately decorated roofs. The entire square spreads out before them like a great white blanket and in the midst of it a statue rises, massive and black against the white backdrop. I have half a mind to go and check it out, but decide against it. I'm not here to go sightseeing; I need to get into the Strahov. Taking a little time to orient myself, I then set off towards where I think the Strahov should be.

"Allistar, what did you find out about the complex?" I ask my headpiece. I packed up and left for Prague only days after I got Kurtis' message, so there really was no time for me to do any research. That also left little time for Allistar, but he's good, he's bound to have come up with something.

"Apparently, it is somehow linked to the Strahov Monastery, though how and why I don't know."

"They share a name, does that ring any bells?" Bryce snorts from somewhere to Allistars right.

"I meant a literal connection, like an underground passage between the two buildings, you moron," Allistar snaps, then continues in a distinctly friendlier tone. "Other than the connection with the monastery, I found it was originally build as a mental hospital. Three guesses as to who the owner is."

"Eckhardt? But he's dead," Zip intervenes.

"Not Eckhardt, Zip. Didn't I tell you he was being played all along? My guess is Joachim Karel, right?" I comment. After some scuttling, Bryce's voice rings in my ear.

"She can't see you nod, stupid!" And then Allistar's distracted voice comes over the sound of snow crunching under the soles of my boots.

"Wha? Oh! Yes, yes, it's registered to Joachim Karel. But that's all I was able to find out."

It's more than I expected, though. I walk onto the impossibly large Karelsbridge that leads out of the ancient city centre and take a look around. The bridge is littered with statues in all shapes and sizes, their dark stones only partly visible through the snow and even though it's still early, it's busy out here.

"Beautiful," Allistar comments as I look around.

"Yes, very," I answer and start walking again. "Unfortunately, we're not here to enjoy the scenery. Allistar, please dig a little further into that monastery you talked about, especially its link with the Strahov. But don't give up on the Strahov, I don't fancy going in blind again".

I remember only too well being dropped of in an alleyway by a local journalist, having nothing but his word and map to go on, with no way of knowing if I could trust him. I really didn't care for it.

"All right Lara, but you might want to do some digging yourself. The monastery is quite famous for its extensive library. I bet you'll find some things of interest there," Allistar answers. I know he refers to far more than just the Strahov, but I choose to ignore the statement. I'm here to look for Kurtis, not for my mother.

"If I have time, I will. Zip, see what you can get on the Strahov, preferably building plans. And take a look around the net to see what you can find out about Karel too, would you? Be thorough, please. Remember, he wasn't human, so he could pop up everywhere." I turn right at the end of the bridge and head into Prague's less hospitable areas.

"Yes, ma'am," is his only comment.

"Let me guess, you want me to curl up under my blanket here and keep track of your progress?" Bryce quips. I tut.

"Bryce, Bryce, Bryce, you know guessing isn't you forte. You got this one wrong too. You can keep track of my progress a soon as I reach the Strahov, until then, see if you can find out what happened after I … redecorated the place."

"Blew it up, you mean," Bryce mutters. I smile and weave my way further into Prague's ugly bowels. I didn't want to go back here, but I'm glad I'm back in action.

As the snow crunches softly under my shoes with each step I take, I notice how much it feels like sand … desert sand and involuntarily my mind takes off into Egypt. 'Nothing there but pyramids and sand', that's what I said about it once. But after my last trip there, I know there's more. There's extraordinary people, murderers and long nights that are so cold you think your heart will freeze and if you stay there long enough, it does. Egypt holds many different memories for me. Memories of grand adventures, lovely people and exciting finds but over all of them still looms the memory of being buried alive in a tomb, of Von Croy's betrayal, of pain and loneliness and a fear that stops your blood from running. I shiver and pull my winter jacket more tightly around my shoulders. I'm better now, back on my game, strong as ever, but Egypt still haunts me. I don't kid myself and think I'm over it, because I'm not. But I did let go of my fear of it and I have started to come to terms with what happened there.

"Lara," Bryce's voice pulls me out of my reverie.

"Yes, Bryce?"

"You need to find a new way into the Strahov."

"What, why?" this is not a good thing. It was hard enough getting into the fortress the first time and I need to hurry and get to Kurtis. Who knows what they've done to him by now and I don't even know who they are yet.

"The entrance has been sealed by the cops and your earlier way in was destroyed during the explosion. Zip, got those floor plans yet?" I can hear Bryce typing away, probably searching for another way in while talking to me.

"Yeah, but I can't be sure they're still accurate with Lara having had a party in there 'n all," my other techie answers. I wince at the light tone in their voices. I told them a little about what went on in there, but neither of them knows how much it affected me. The weird thing is, it affected me both in a good and bad way. It pulled me out of the very dark place I had fallen into and gave me a new friend, partner in crime so to say. But it also challenged me, almost past my limits, both physically and mentally, screwing with my head. Plus, I lost Kurtis in there, or so I thought.

"How about the way I used to escape last time?" I ask them. There's more typing and clicking sounds.

"Can't tell," Bryce says. "It's not on the floor plans."

"Well boys, that may just mean the police didn't know it was there and forgot to seal it off. Let's have a look-see," I tell them, much more light-hearted then I feel. _Why does that place bring me down so much?_

I don't have much time to ponder on it though, because the Strahov suddenly looms over me, surprising me with its size and ability to hide amongst the derelict buildings surrounding it. I start circling the huge building, searching for the way I exited two years ago.

"Bryce," I speak softly now, not wanting to be overheard by anyone. "Keep the channel open, I think I've found my way in."

Sure enough, the door I came stumbling through the last time I was here faces me, taunting me with its presence. Daring me to go in. Well, I'm not one to back down from a challenge, so I try it cautiously, not surprised to find it open.

"Careful Lara, we'll be listening in," Bryce signals our radio silence in his usual way. Like always, I don't answer.

The hallway that welcomes me back into the bowels of the Strahov is dark and silent and I press the light on the strap of my backpack, trying to pry some opening into the black wall facing me. The soft glow falls across the grey tiles covering floor and walls alike and I'm faintly reminded of the hopelessness that momentarily caught hold of me when traversing this hallway on my way out. It had seemed endless and my strength was waning. I shake my head lightly to dislodge the memories and start my way forward carefully, one hand hovering near the pistol that hangs in the holster on my right leg.

The hallway seems to be going on forever, just like last time and I hate to admit it gets me jittery. It's eerily quiet down here, my own footsteps, though hardly audible; sound horrifically loud in the empty space. Finally, the floor starts to slope downward. I follow it for a couple of meters, ignoring any and all branch-offs and switch off the light. Partially to save energy, partially because I don't want to draw unwanted attention to myself. Luckily, I know were I'm going and my road leads straight on for a good while yet.

I come to a halt and crouch down as the hallway finally widens considerably: a couple of hundred meters more and I'll step into the large round chamber were I picked up Kurtis' weapon. My hand involuntarily touches the cold metal of the disc that's safely strapped to my belt. I've brought it here thinking it may lead me to Kurtis, but it's only now that I realize I don't really know who Kurtis is. This might very well be a trap and I'm walking right into it.

I berate myself for being so careless. It isn't like me at all. No wonder Bryce and Zipp were so surprised I ran off right after I got Kurtis' message. _Why does this Yank make me react so differently?_

I sit still and listen for a while, but the fortress is still deadly silent. I frown: somehow, this doesn't feel right. Still, I told Kurtis I trust him here once, I'll just have to keep that promise. I move forward, careful to stay in the shadows and slowly make my way down the new hallway, gun in hand now, because I really don't trust the situation.

I can barely suppress a gasp when the hallway opens up into that familiar round chamber. It's not entirely dark; I think some emergency lights are working, making the metal walls and floor gleam malevolently. A large part of the floor stays dark though, the part that was covered in blood when I found Kurtis' disc. I hoped it was Boaz' blood when I picked up the weapon and it vibrated, pulling me towards the exit, but when I didn't meet Kurtis on the way out my fear grew steadily worse and as I burst out of the Strahov and into the night sky, I knew it had to have been Kurtis' blood and that meant he was almost certainly dead.

I take a deep breath and step into the metallic circle, moving to the opposite side of the room and facing an iron wall of debris, blocking my way through.

"Nice", I murmur, before starting a slow 180 around the room, my eyes travelling over every inch of the walls, trying to find another way out. The wall's riddled with bullet holes and scratches, testament of a serious fight having gone down here. And the metal of the floor is rough in several places, like it's been heated to a boil and left to dry.

I firmly pull my mind away from trying to put the pieces of Kurtis' fight with Boaz here together and step under the platform Eckhardt threw Kurtis off of last time we were here. But there's no way I'm going to get on there, not without the Yank giving me a boost, so I turn to look around again and that's when I spot it: a metal pole sticking out of the wall, right between the stack of debris and the platform. _That just might work._

Carefully, making sure the pieces of iron and metal hold under my weight, I clamber onto the debris pile, slowly making my way towards the pole. I'm almost at the top, when an ominous creaking sounds from below my feet and I can barely think _uh-oh_, before the entire pile starts to slide.

It's astonishing how fast a collapsing pile of debris picks up speed and I'm in danger of loosing my footing, when I spot a piece of metal grating sliding past me. I jump onto it and, using it as a board, surf down the pile, using the forward momentum to make the jump to the pole jutting out of the wall. Unfortunately it gives as soon as I grab onto it and my swing forward is turned into a wobbly arc instead of a neat bow. There's no time for a second try however: the entire thing snaps of the wall and I have to let go and make the jump for the platform. I land hard on my right shoulder, but manage to roll with the fall and scramble back against the wall. I butt the back of my head into it and grab hold of my shoulder to prevent the grunt of pain from escaping my clenched lips.

I shouldn't have bothered: the noise of metal scraping and landing on metal that continues on from below is deafening. I curse softly before hurrying into the hallway beyond. The fact that it is well lit, doesn't calm my nerves at all and I scramble for a way to hide. Remembering the vents I crawled around in last time I was here, I focus my attention upward and smile as I see metal grating glimmer against the harsh tube lights. It's removed within seconds. A couple more pass before I'm in the vent using my grapple hook to reattach the grating. I barely have time to get into the darkness before thundering boots signal the arrival of mercenaries. I let out a long breath once they've passed into the circular room and start crawling through the small metallic box, in search for a way out.

"Zip?" I whisper when I reach a fork in the road. It's kind of hard, talking to them in here, because there's almost no room to push the button on my earpiece.

"Left leads to something called The Sanitarium, right leads to the holding cells", he answers just as quietly. I'm pretty sure they didn't see much of anything, the camera on my headset needs a lot more light to work properly, but they must've heard the racket I made. _Right it is then. _

I crawl onward, ignoring the pain in my shoulder, and peek down through the gratings I pass on my way. After a couple of minutes, something down there catches my interest: weapons. The room seems to be deserted, but there's no telling what's behind the thick steel door on the far wall, so I drop onto the hard concrete noiselessly and leave my light off. The room is dimly lit, but it's just enough to see metal gleaming. Guns, knives, I don't know and – careful not to make a sound – take a closer look at what's on the table. I feel the corners of my mouth curl up into a triumphant smile as I recognize one of the guns there: it's Kurtis'. It seems to take regular 9 mm ammunition, so I look around the room for some of that. I find it lying neatly stacked in a box and after I load the gun, which handles really well, I start filling my backpack with more ammo. I only get three clips in, before yelling, accompanied by the thumping of dozens of boots, erupts on the other side of the door. Surmising a room full of weapons isn't a good place to hide in a crisis, I hurry up back into the vent, making it just in time to hear the heavy door burst open and see over twenty mercenaries loading up. They make so much noise shouting about an escape and having to hurry that I can safely crawl further up the vent, to the holding cells.

I drop down into the first open cell and peer outside. Apparently, the outbreak is in some other part of the fortress, because the hallway seems deserted. Still cautious, I creep along it, checking cell after cell for any sign of life. They're all empty and I've almost given up when I see something move behind the bars of the door I'm passing. I approach the door and suddenly, with a huge howl, something jumps up against the door. I catch a flash of pearly white fangs as I stagger back. _What the hell do they keep in here?_

A hand across my mouth prevents me from screaming as I'm suddenly pulled back into the cell behind me. My assailant uses his foot to kick the cell door closed and I make use of his moment of imbalance by driving my right elbow hard into his ribs. An angry hiss sounds behind me and as I'm released I spin around, guns pointing between the eyes of my attacker.

Astonishingly blue eyes, covered by dark bangs of hair.

"Now, now, is that any way to greet your pall?" the man standing in front of me asks. His arms are up, palms facing forward in a gesture of surrender, but there's no fear in his eyes, more of a mischievous sparkle. I lower my guns.

"Kurtis," I breathe and take a step towards him. He smiles that cocky grin of his and as he drops his arms, his fingertips graze my shoulders. His eyes betray nothing, but I'm certain it's deliberate, a reminder of the first time we 'met'.

"That'd be me. Fancy meeting you here," he answers, before placing a hand over his chest and gingerly touching his ribs. I frown at the gesture. My elbow couldn't have hurt him that bad and from what I saw the last time we were here, he's not one to show pain.

"What's wrong?" I ask and follow his hand with my own, ignoring the warmth spreading through my fingers as they move over his taunt chest. He catches my hand and pulls it away from his chest, but doesn't let go.

"Nothing, just a couple of cracked ribs," he answers. And I wince. I just elbowed him in cracked ribs and all he does is hiss?

"Sorry." He drops my hand.

"Yeah, yeah. Why are you here, anyway?" he brushes away my apology and baffles me with his question.

"What?"

He sighs and tries but fails to hide a wince of pain. "You, here, why?"

_Oh, so now I'm the stupid one?_

"I'm here because you asked me to come, of course," I answer, quite sharply and his eyes turn a darker shade at my tone. I really don't care if I'm rubbing him the wrong way. Calling me back out here of all places and then denying it. "The emergency broadcast, remember. You asked me to come help you?"

He actually chuckles, his eyes reverting back to their normal cold blue colour and I feel my anger rise even more.

"I take it you didn't get the full message then?" he wants to know next.

"Jumbled images, cracked audio."

"Ah, yeah, well, I told you I was here, about to get captured. I also told you I was breaking out in a couple of days and asked if you would help me with tracking down an artefact," he explains calmly, his eyes looking all around the cell we're in.

"Saying you're breaking out before you get captured. Self-confident aren't we?" I ask, turning around to look around the cell as well and to hide the smile creeping up my face.

"I'm out, aren't I?" is al he has to say to that.

"Not yet," I surmise as we come full circle and stand facing each other again. He only grins and looks at my waist. I follow his line of sight and see his disc glinting there. His eyes suddenly turn serious when he looks back at me.

"You got out of there all right?" he wants to know. I unstrap the metallic disc and hand it to him, understanding exactly what he's talking about.

"Yes, but we don't really have time to talk about that. We need to get out of here, while they're still looking for you somewhere else," I tell him and fish his gun and the 9 mm clips out of my backpack.

"My Boran! I could just kiss you right now!" he exclaims.

"Don't you dare!" I snap, turning around and checking the hallway, wondering briefly about what he called his gun. I feel his warmth as he moves closer to me to peer over my head.

"Nice doggy, don't bite," he whispers and I can hear the smile in his voice. Deciding to ignore this jaunt, I step out into the hallway and start tracing my way back to the vent, Kurtis right behind me. There're footsteps heading our way before we're even halfway down the hall. I glance around quickly, but we're caught in the open with no time to reach the open holding cells behind us and the path before us blocked by approaching mercenaries. I hear the click of Kurtis' gun behind me as I load my own and drop to my haunches, presenting a target as small as possible. I expect Kurtis to do the same, but he steps up to my back instead, planting his lower legs firmly against my sides, effectively steadying us both.

"Ready?" he asks. Stupid question, I'm always ready. I nod and train my twin pistols onto the dark square that's the end of the hallway. I start shooting as soon as I see the contours of a man appearing. Kurtis' disc whirrs through the air above me. It's light; combined with that of the gunshots, momentarily paints the grey hallway in an eerie orange glow. With Kurtis steadying me, I hardly feel the effect of the backlash at all, resulting in a much better aim. The first two mercenaries drop without realizing what's happening. The third gets his throat slashed by Kurtis' weapon and only gurgles while sliding down the wall. The last one actually manages to shoot at us, but slams against the wall opposite his comrade quickly, pierced by two bullets.

"Lets go!" I call to Kurtis as I get up and sprint forward. Our little massacre's bound to attract attention and if we don't get out of here before back up arrives, we'll be pinned down in this hallway. Kurtis seems to have realized that too, because he's right behind me again. I spot the first grating leading up to the ventilation shafts and make a beeline for it. Only to come to a sharp stop as it clatters to the ground before my feet. I look over my shoulder to see Kurtis wink and folding his hands to give me a boost. I jump up and pull myself into the shaft instead, hurrying forward to make room for Kurtis, who clangs the grating shut the same way he opened it.

We listen for a moment, but there's no sign of back up yet, so I start moving, crawling back to where I entered the vent system, hoping they aren't searching that area yet.

"Lara? What the hell's going on?" Zip sounds worried and I can't blame him. He hasn't seen half of what happened, but he's at least heard me fall and fight.

"Zip, get us the hell out of here, they're on full alert", I hiss into my earpiece, then start crawling again. There's some frantic typing on the other side of the line, then a curse.

"They are indeed! They're everywhere. Best I can do is getting you as close to the exit as possible. You'll have to fight your way through," Zip answers. I hear the frustration in his voice, but pay it no head. I can relate, however it'll have to do. I stop again to answer him.

"Guide me, then," I command and so we proceed through the ventilation system in absolute silence, with Zipp telling me where to turn left or right, leading us through the least busy hallways. Finally, Zip informs me the exit is straight ahead.

The hallway holds only five mercenaries on guard, not too hard. I crawl into a seating position to signal to Kurtis that we're exiting here but before I can, all hell breaks loose. A mercenary comes running around the corner, yelling 'They're in the vents!', one of the five below us looks up and spots me, yells 'Over here!' and then there's only the sound of bullets hitting the shaft. We're trapped like rats.

"Out, OUT!" Kurtis yells behind me. And the grating drops down with such force that it flies through the hallway beneath us and catches one of the mercenaries straight in the chest. I don't need telling twice and unceremoniously drop through the hole, face first and – not able to completely break my fall with my arms – get the wind knocked out of me. I do manage to roll away to make room for Kurtis, who sends his disc out in front of him, making it spin around the room to distract the guards that are shooting at us, before dropping after me and grunting in pain as his cracked ribs take yet another blow.

I scramble to my feet, taking out my guns in the process and start picking off the mercenaries as fast as I can. Two drop before I'm forced to duck and roll to avoid getting my head blown off by the mercenary who got hit by the grating. I can just see him drop as I get my legs back under me and when I nail the one opposite me, I hear another hitting the floor at my right side. I glance around to see Kurtis sitting up against the wall under the vent, one arm around his chest, the other now lying slack at his side, gun still in hand. I hurry over to him.

"You all right?" I want to know, checking him for any serious injuries.

"Just … give me … a minute to … catch my breath", he pants and I hope he hasn't punctured one of his lungs.

"I would, but they won't," I tell him, inclining my head towards the sound of running footsteps closing in from the hallway. "Come on."

He lets me help him to his feet, but refuses any further assistance as we start running for the doorway out of the Strahov. His panting sounding behind me is ragged and clearly audible over my own. Remembering how long this corridor is, I pray that he can make it and glance back frequently to make sure he's not lagging behind. Surprisingly enough, he's not. His face has turned a nasty ashen colour and in the light that is now flooding the hallway I can see he's been badly beaten up, but he seems determined to keep track.

"Bloody hell Lara, he looks awful!" Bryce exclaims in my earpiece, but I have no breath to spare for an answer. Finally, the door is looming in the distance and – knowing I can't afford to slow down to open it properly – I brace myself for the impact.

Seconds later, I'm flying through the air, door and all, slightly dazed by the pain that's searing anew through my right shoulder. _Should've chosen the left._ I faintly hear someone calling my name and then everything is icy cold as I land in the snow and roll over several times, before coming to a halt on my stomach, pistols trained on the doorway we just came through.

Kurtis has swerved to the side, out of the way and I see him drop to his knees from the corner of my eyes. I realize he has to be the one that called my name and wonder where he got the air. As I clamber to my feet again, pistols still trained on the door, he reaches out and rubs a hand full of snow into his face, then his chest. _Numbing the pain, smart man._

When he gets up, he signals towards an alley and we disappear into the dark shadows creeping there. Our pace slowed to a jog, we keep moving until we reach a large street in the middle of what seems to be an industrial district. There we finally slow down to a brisk walk, Kurtis still panting, but not heavily enough to make me worry about a punctured lung.

"Zip, where are we?" I want to know. Kurtis looks at me strangely as Zip explains to me how to get back to the hotel. Luckily, it's not that far a walk, I ponder as I watch Kurtis shiver in only two shirts and some cargo pants.

"Who are you talking too?" he wants to know after he's figured I'm done listening. I tap the earpiece on the side of my head.

"Home front," I answer. "I'll explain later," I continue, effectively blocking his questioning look. He nods in agreement and we walk on in silence for several minutes before turning onto Karlsbridge again. The vastness and beauty of it doesn't catch me this time, overshadowed as it is by the need to hurry and get Kurtis inside and taken care of. And the walk back to Prague's main square and the hotel take far too long for my comfort.

The hotel clerk looks a little weird at us as we stumble – broken, battered and wet from the snow – into his lobby, but he doesn't ask any questions as I nod at him and call for an elevator. Kurtis breathes a sigh of relief as he sinks down into one of the armchairs facing the window, only to wince at the pain it causes his busted ribs. I grab a dry coat from my closet and drape the one I had been wearing over the heater.

"Dress size?" I ask, turning towards Kurtis, who is leaning back into the chair, eyes closed. Deep blue flashes back into view at my question though.

"What?" is all he says.

"What size clothes do you wear?" I ask him as if he's a little child, copying his way with me earlier. "Or do you want to keep running around in wet T-shirts and trousers?"

He looks down at the torn shirt, sticking wetly to his muscled chest and taunt abdomen and shakes his head.

"Forty or large," he answers and I nod, signalling I got it.

"You take a shower. I'll get you some clothes," I tell him, putting on my jacket. As I do up the zipper, I'm caught of guard by a hand sliding along my shoulders and a soft 'Thanks' whispered in my ear as Kurtis makes his way around me and to the bathroom. I stare at the closed door for a couple of seconds, before grabbing my credit card and hurrying out.

It takes me only half an hour to get him three pairs of pants, some shirts and sweaters and a warm leather jacket. Slightly annoyed with the shopkeeper for thinking I was buying gifts for my boyfriend, I make it back to the hotel room in under forty minutes, only to be met by a Kurtis dressed in nothing but a towel. He's staring out of the window and I can just glimpse a troubled expression before he turns to face me, face blank.

I frown at the sight of his naked chest. It's full of scratches, cuts and bruises, a particularly large and angry one extending from his armpit to halfway down his chest. There's a strange round scar on his stomach too. He catches my look and shrugs with his good shoulder.

"Guess I wasn't really welcome," he offers. I shake my head, still processing the extend of his injuries and how the hell he was able to fight so well with them, and hand him a pair of jeans and some black silk boxers I bought. He whistles through his teeth and I can see the muscles of his chest constrict to ward of the pain that causes him.

"Sugar, you can buy me clothes anytime," he quips, earning himself a dark look from me.

"Put them on while I take a shower. I'll take a look at your injuries afterwards," I boss him around, while pulling sweatpants and a pink cable sweater out of my bag before heading towards the bathroom. He smirks at the commanding tone, but doesn't comment and when I emerge from the bathroom, dressed and hair rolled into a towel so it doesn't drip onto my back, he's at the window again, this time dressed in the jeans I bought him.

"Well?" he asks jokingly and slowly spins around as I enter the room, giving me the opportunity to appreciate how well the jeans fit him. I grin at him.

"Yes, very pretty. Now sit down," I motion towards the bed and he obediently sits down onto it, while I search my pack for some bandages and a first aid kit, absently pulling the towel from my head and shaking my hair loose. There are some cuts and bruises on his back as well and I start working on them, cleaning and bandaging the cuts and applying some cooling lotion on the bruises. He doesn't say a thing while I work and turns around without question when I ask. His chest has taken the most damage and I wonder if that's because he was tied to a chair when they brutalized him. I look up to ask him and meet closed eyelids.

"Am I hurting you?" I ask softly and smooth skin slowly uncovers blue eyes that remain closed nonetheless. He gives a minute shake of the head.

"No, not at all," he answers, his voice low and little more than a whisper. A surge of pity washes over me for some reason, but I push it away harshly and resume taking care of his wounds. When everything is bandaged and I have fixed the bruises and cuts on his face too, I apply a copious amount of cooling lotion on his bruised ribs and reach for some bandages.

"I am going to hurt you now, so hang on," I tell him, as I reach around him to bandage his chest. He nods once, his arms coming up to rest on my shoulders so I have better access. We must make a great image: me on my knees in front of him, reaching around his chest and him with his arms on my shoulders. I ignore the warmth spreading through me at that idea and proceed to wrap his chest tightly. He stiffens from the pain, but doesn't say a thing. He knows as well as I do that this needs to be tight to have any effect. I work as fast as I can, not wanting to torment him more than needed. He drops his arms from my shoulder when I tie the bandage and whispers another 'Thanks' in my ear.

"Not a problem," I answer and make to get up, but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder. Wrong shoulder and I wince in pain.

"What's wrong?" he wants to know immediately, rising with me.

"Nothing," I shake my head, but he's not having any of it.

"Like hell. Take that off," he commands, pointing at my sweater. I pull up one eyebrow.

"That's it? No dinner and a movie, no sweet words? Just, take that off?" I ask, quasi insulted and hoping he'll let it go. But he doesn't, he doesn't even react, just stands there, hands on his hips, waiting for me to take of my sweater. I sigh, turn and pull it over my head, not particularly happy about the fact that I'm standing in my bra right now. But Kurtis is all business.

"Shit. Where's that lotion," he mutters as he searches for it on the bed. I know why he's cursing. My entire right shoulder has turned purple and truth be told, it hurts like hell. But, like him, I'm not one to show pain, it's a weakness in the field, so I kept my mouth shut. I wish I hadn't when Kurtis carefully applies the lotion on the bruise. It takes the edge off the pain immediately. I make to turn around to thank him, when strong fingers start prodding at the muscles around the bruise. The prodding turns into a slow circling motion with light pressure and I feel my muscles surrender to Kurtis' hands. He gently pulls me on the bed in front of him and massages pain-cramped muscles back into obedience.

"Better?" he asks after a long while, both hands resting on my shoulders. A shiver runs through me at his touch and I pull on my sweater to cover it up.

"Yes, thank you," I answer politely, while I pull away from him and enter the bathroom to braid my hair. When I return, he has pulled on a dark grey cable sweater with a low turtleneck and is perched in one of the chairs, cleaning his gun.

I pick up one of my own and sit down across from him, dissembling it for cleaning, before getting up again and walking to the phone.

"Would you like something to eat?" I want to know, picking up the menu. He walks over and reads it over my shoulder. I try to stay focused on the words, but they all blur together as Kurtis' breath ghosts over my cheek.

"Soup of the day, the salmon and chocolate cream, please," he orders, before retreating to his chair. I find some satisfaction in the fact that his retreat is halting.

"Chocolate cream?" I ask laughing while dialling room service. He shrugs, wincing when his ribs react.

"What can I say, I'm addicted. It's either that, or cigarettes," he answers. I wrinkle my nose in disgust, still perusing the menu.

"You smoke?"

"Not anymore."

"Good," I judge, before ordering in rather bad Czech. Kurtis' head snaps around at that and he looks at me with raised eyebrows, a bit of admiration sneaking its way into emotionless blue.

"You speak Czech?" he sounds surprised. I smile as I pick up the muzzle of my gun and start cleaning it.

"Hardly," I answer and without looking up, I plough on. "What kind of gun is that? I've never seen anything like it before."

He smiles and somewhere in the back of my mind I realize it makes him look a lot younger.

"That's not surprising as I've made it myself. I call it the Boran X," he states proudly. I smile; it's as if he's talking about one of his children. _Does he have children? Why do I even care?_

"Seems quite well balanced," I complement, remembering how easy it was to handle when I loaded it. He nods and mockingly points it at me. He winks before he lowers it again and doesn't speak for a long while.

"So, did you kill Eckhardt, or did Karel do the honours?" His tone is casual, but I'm not fooled. He needs to know if his father's been avenged and whether that was done by friend or foe matters.

"How do you know about Karel?" I ask, skirting around the issue. He looks me in the eye for a brief moment; blue eyes as hard as ever and gives me a sad smile.

"Karel it is, then. Why?" he wants to know. I sigh.

"I was about to kill Eckhardt when he pulled the third shard out of my hand and did it himself. There wasn't much I could do about it."

"I see," and with that, he resumes cleaning his gun. Something twists in my stomach. He's not blaming me, that's a good thing, but 'I see' is not enough. Eckhardt killed his father, there has to be some feeling there.

"Look, Kurtis, I'm sorry," I try again, but he simply shakes his head. I sigh again but decide to drop the subject. I've known him for what, two days now? No wonder he doesn't want to talk about it with me. _But, still …_

Room service breaks the somewhat strained silence in the room and once we're both settled over our soup – I didn't have a change to read the menu, so I just copied his order – I venture another question.

"Can you tell me something about that disc?" I'm slightly relieved to see him smile teasingly.

"What? It's been in your possession for almost two years now and you know nothing about it?" The tone in his question states clearly that he doesn't believe that for even a moment.

"I know it's a glaive and it's most likely mind-controlled, but other than that, I don't know much," I answer truthfully. He unhooks the disc from his belt and makes it spin around us for a few moments; it's orange light quite romantic, if you forget the sharp blades and overall deadliness of the thing producing it.

"It's called the Chirugai and yes, I control it with my mind. It's made of ferilium, a meteorite alloy, and was given to me upon my initiation. I don't know much about it myself," Kurtis tells me in between bites of soup. He lets the weapon hover in front of my face for a minute before stilling it and settling it into my lap. I pick it up to examine the markings that are present all around the disc, like I have done so many times before.

"Hey, watch it. You'll get soup on it," Kurtis warns when my perusal takes the Chirugai dangerously close to my plate. I laugh.

"And? It'll rust or something?" Boys and their toys, really.

"No, but I just cleaned it," Kurtis almost pouts as he takes the weapon I hand back to him.

"Hhm, a weapon of the Lux Veritatis then. How do you control it while talking or fighting?" I wonder, while discarding our empty soup bowls and setting down the salmon. He glances at my food and smiles knowingly.

"Practice," is all he says. Silence descents upon the room for a while as we both eat. I'm actually quite hungry, given that I've been running around the Strahov all day without food, but I can't imagine how hungry Kurtis must be. Obviously he's been there longer than I have and given his treatment, I doubt he was given anything to eat.

Once he's finished eating, Kurtis pushes his plate back and grabs the bottle of water I ordered with the food.

"So, how come you're so sure I'm not Karel?" he asks while pouring us both a glass. My fingers brush against his when I accept my drink from him and he almost drops it. I can't hide a smirk at that. So, I'm not the only one affected.

"Karel would've killed me instead of pulling me back into that cell," I explain curtly. There are dozens of other little things, like the way his eyes glimmer when he's yanking my chain or the way he moves, but I'll be damned before I tell him that. "Besides, Karel is dead and buried. I identified the body myself."

"Hhm, I wonder who has taken over control, because the Cabal obviously didn't share Karel's faith," Kurtis ponders, a faraway look appearing in his eyes.

"Quite," I agree. "I had Zip look into Joachim Karel before I entered the Strahov, I'm sure it'll give us a clue as to why the Cabal is still active."

"Zip again. Who is he, your boyfriend?"

I snort at that.

"My techie," I correct him. Kurtis pulls up one eyebrow.

"Ah, right, home front," he says, the prompt for an explanation in the statement obvious.

"There's Zip, techie, all-round weapon geek and cook. Bryce, techie, wiz kid and caffeine addict. Allistar, scholar with invaluable knowledge about artefacts. And Winston," I tick them off on my fingers, then start on my chocolate mousse.

"Who's Winston?" Kurtis wants to know.

"The butler."

He almost chokes on his chocolate mousse and looks at me wide-eyed.

"You have a butler?"

"Two actually, but Hillary's only there when I have guests."

"What?!"

"What? I _am_ a countess you know." Amusing as it was at first, his surprise is beginning to irritate me know. Apparently, that last comment does it, because Kurtis just gapes at me. After several seconds he snaps his mouth shut.

"Sorry, it's just … you don't look it," he excuses his behaviour. I'm not entirely certain that's a valid excuse as it's still not very flattering, but it is the truth, so I nod my acceptance. Kurtis gets up to clean the table, leaving the water and glasses and rolls the kart onto the hallway to be picked up later.

"So, what's this artefact you want me to help you find?" I ask when he returns to the room. I've moved to sit cross-legged on the bed and he drops down beside me, stretching his legs and crossing them at the ankle.

"The sheath of Excalibur," he answers and bends over the side of the bed to grab his belt bag, only to come up cursing and holding his ribs. Still cursing, he steps off the bed again to retrieve the bag with a little less pain and takes out a notepad. After flipping through a few pages, he shows me a drawing of a swords hilt, covered in green markings.

"Looks familiar?" he wants to know and I tell him it does, though I don't elaborate on where from.

"One of the Lux Veritatis' allies called me and said the Cabal was after it. I don't know why exactly, but if they want it, it's my job to keep them from getting it. I haven't been able to find much information about it though. I was wandering through the Strahov Monastry in search of some, when those mercs came after me," Kurtis explains. I nod, filing away the nickname for mercenaries for later.

"Allistar told me about the monastery and it's connection with the fortress. I presume you were looking for the library?"

"You presume correctly, milady," he answers in perfect English. I actually find it quite funny, but manage to look up at him with a distasteful face.

"Sorry, couldn't resist," is his explanation. "Anyway, while on the run from those bastards, I happened upon a communications room, quite a high tech one at that and I thought it would be worth a shot to try and contact somebody, preferably you. I didn't have your phone number, so calling wasn't an option and tracking you down would've taken ages."

"Well, it worked. I'm here and I'm happy to help you. Let's get some sleep, I'll have Zip book us two tickets to England," I propose.

"You need to pick up some stuff?" Kurtis asks before pulling his sweater over his head and cursing again at the pain that assaults his ribs.

"No, _we_ need to research and I happen to have quite an extensive library and _you_ need to heal before we get shot at again," I answer before disappearing into the bathroom. There's some muttering from the bedroom, but I think Kurtis realizes I'm right, because he doesn't protest when it's his turn to use the bathroom. When he returns, wearing only boxers, I've already made the call to Zip and am lying in bed, half asleep. I drift back to consciousness when I hear him drag chairs around and grunt at the pain.

"Don't be daft. This bed was made for two, you know. Just don't hog the covers," I tell him and roll back onto my side. The last thing I notice before I drift off to sleep is the dip in the mattress as Kurtis slides under the covers next to me.


End file.
